


Sweet Gestures

by SecondDerivative



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: FE3H Kinkmeme, Finger Sucking, Hands, I don't know what to tell you and I have nothing to say for myself, M/M, it's really just 3k of hands...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25246540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondDerivative/pseuds/SecondDerivative
Summary: "exactly what it says on the tin. i want to see dimitri suck on felix's fingers"-a wise anon
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	Sweet Gestures

**Author's Note:**

> For the FE3H kinkmeme.
> 
> Link to original [prompt](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1608.html?thread=2310984#cmt2310984). I hope you enjoy it, anon, if you're out there.

The black gloves, Dimitri realizes as he watches Felix flex his fingers to rid them of the winter cold, are new.

They suit him. The material is pliable, supple, and give off a soft sheen every time Felix turns his hand a new angle, catching the light a little differently each time. They are finely-crafted as well: the stitching is invisible except where intentionally decorative, and the finish is perfect without a single stray thread out of place. But what really makes them look good, Dimitri knows, are Felix’s hands.

He’s been seeing more of them lately, in the past few years. Dimitri preferred to keep his own hands under gauntlets, under leathers, encased in wool, even if they got in the way of delicate activities requiring more dexterity. It is an old habit and but for the better or worse, he feels more secure with something over his hands. Not Felix, however. Shortly after the war had ended, though he had continued to wear gloves as a basic precaution in training and fighting, when his new duties forced him to take up the quill over the sword, he had shed them. This allowed him to lick the pads of his fingers to separate the pages of books, but also led to the occurrences where he’d leave his desk with his palms stained with wet ink if he didn’t pay attention.

But for now, Dimitri admires the way the dark material hugs the outline of his hands and how it is ever-responsive to each tense and flex of the muscle and bone beneath them. Even if the gloves are perfectly tailored, there’s of course a little extra material to accommodate for movement, and he appreciates where it gathers in smooth bumps between each slender finger. 

While Felix’s hands may not appear to be those of a warrior’s, Dimitri knows better. His hands are strong, and his grip is sure, reliable, unyielding when it needs to be like when it’s wrapped around the hilt of his favorite weapon. His grasp is firm when he holds Dimitri by the shoulders in the heat of the moment, especially when he needs to make a point. But Dimitri, and perhaps Dimitri alone, has also experienced that those same hands can be gentle, almost ticklish, when they trace his jaw, and when they wander downward, leaving light touches of heat down his chest, skirting around his sides, brushing the crease at his hips…

Felix, who had been mostly taking notes up until this point, pauses to tap his index finger against the paper. Not everyone can read his face, but Felix has never fully learned to mask the language of his body. This means that he is annoyed. 

Dimitri chances a glance up, only to have his gaze met by Felix’s. 

Felix is side-eying him in an effort to be discreet. “Pay attention” is what he doesn’t say, but Dimitri hears it echo in his head, intonation and all. He smiles apologetically and faces forward once more, causing his companion to sigh to his right. The summit continues and the voice of men drone on. Outwardly, Dimitri smiles, gestures, and nods. He comments and listens, as a good king should, but somewhere deep inside, he thinks of Felix’s gloves, and how he would very much like to be the person to peel them off.

* * *

“What were you _thinking_?” Felix asks. In a single motion, he slides his coat off his shoulders and neatly onto the back of his chair.

The conference had just concluded, and as per the routine, Felix had walked with Dimitri back up to his office, where they could talk about the results of the meeting candidly, in private. This was never something they had explicitly arranged, but they did often enough that the maids had caught onto the pattern as well. Already, before Felix was fully seated, the fireplace is lit, and there is someone hustling at the table in front of them, laying out a tray of spiced biscuits and a pot of chamomile tea. Not wanting to be in the way, the maid sets the remaining plate down with a nervous clatter (Dimitri wonders if she is new) and exits with a hasty bow. Dimitri hopes that she heard him say “thank you”, because that usually calms the nerves of the help. Sighing, he takes the seat across from his advisor.

“I do not follow,” Dimitri says. Absently, he flips the teacups over and pours them both a cup.

Felix tsks, as if his point is perfectly obvious. “I don’t like meetings, either,” he says, “but you were looking at _something_ in my direction for a good five minutes, conservatively speaking. People thought there was something wrong, and they kept glancing our way as well.” 

Oh, _that_. 

Dimitri flushes light pink, remembering now _exactly_ what Felix is referring to. He looks back up at Felix to apologize, but his words die on his tongue. Felix is eyeing the biscuits with a slightly annoyed expression, but more importantly, he is carefully pulling off his gloves, revealing his hands – pale, fine, yet battle-worn, a stark contrast to the shiny black leather.

“There’s icing on these,” Felix mumbles. “I’m certain now that the maid is new.” 

“You could always scrape it off,” Dimitri suggests automatically, still staring as Felix removes the other glove. He places them neatly to the side. “Are those new?” Dimitri asks.

Felix follows his line of sight. “They are. My old ones were wearing out.”

Dimitri gulps, thinking about how they looked encasing Felix’s fingers once again. “They’re, nice,” he manages.

Felix nods. “Mercedes recommended the artisan to me. Her shop is not far from here, in fact. It’s good for the price…” Felix glances back up at Dimitri, then his eyes narrow as he digests the look he’s being given. “Don’t tell me you spent the time in the meeting pondering the acquisition of my gloves.”

Dimitri lets out an embarrassed laugh. “No, not quite.”

Felix grunts and finally picks up a biscuit. He brings a butter knife to it at an angle, handling the thin handle between his fingers with expertise. In two, three swift movements, the majority of the icing is scraped onto the plate and the thin biscuit is still perfectly intact.

Felix’s grimace shows that he himself is not quite satisfied. The cookie is laid back down onto the china with a soft _clink_. “There was some more on the back of the darn thing,” he says, and sure enough, there’s a touch of stiff, sugary white on his fingertips.

Dimitri immediately grabs a napkin. “Here, allow me.”

Felix immediately draws his hand back. “What? No, I can do this myself.”

But Dimitri leans forward in earnest. “I insist.”

Felix wrinkles his nose at him, but relents. “This is pointless,” he informs him, holding his hand out. 

Dimitri takes it. “Thank you, Felix,” Dimitri beams.

Something he sees in Dimitri’s expression makes Felix look away with a mock-exasperated exhale, and Dimitri does not miss the touches of red blooming on his cheeks at the contact. “You don’t have to sound so happy about it. It’s just sugar.”

“I don’t have to, but I am,” Dimitri replies. No matter the context, Dimitri loves the comfort of Felix’s hand in his. He holds it, pressing his thumb to the center of his palm and with the other, he sets the napkin to work.

Felix had always said that a swordsman should treasure his hands, and it is quite clear that he follows his own advice. The skin may be scarred, and his palms may be calloused, but there’s a distinct suppleness to his hands. Dimitri knows that he takes great care to stretch them out before and after training, and he’s made sure that every injury he does get is cleaned and healed completely. They’ve softened just the slightest over the years – a small sign of peace after years of war, and Dimitri notices that every nail is perfectly cut and filed into ovular, smooth, and uniform shapes without a hint of dirt under them, despite the hours spent in the sandy training yard.

He hears Felix make an impatient sound as Dimitri wipes the last bit of icing away. It’s gone now, for the most part, but Dimitri knows from experience that sugary substances tend to leave behind a sticky residue even after being wiped away. 

He _could_ dip his napkin into his tea, but there is a far better alternative.

“Wha– ” is all Felix can say before his words give way to a choked noise when Dimitri wraps his lips around the end of his finger.

“Dimitri – “ he protests, but Dimitri can hear how his voice goes weak when the flat of Dimitri’s tongue brushes against the tip. The contrast between the hard edge of the nail and the soft meat of his fingertip is wonderful. Dimitri likes it. He sucks lightly and slowly, drawing out the sensation.

For all the pleasure of this novel sensation, Dimitri does not forget the task before him. He makes sure to suck dutifully, until every bit of stickiness, imagined or not (he has no sense of taste, so there’s no way for him to tell) is sure to be gone. He swallows down, harder this time, ridding the pad of any excess saliva, and ends by sliding Felix’s finger carefully out of his mouth, though he allows his nail to scrape the top of his teeth. 

Felix draws his hand back lightning-fast before Dimitri can even do him the service of drying him off. He’s back on his feet and looking at Dimitri, blushing furiously. “What was that?”

Dimitri stands as well. He knows they both know that it’s not about the icing anymore. Not really. “Apologies, Felix,” he says, “I might not have been… entirely truthful earlier.”

Felix doesn’t budge even as Dimitri steps closer to him. “What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t thinking entirely about the gloves.” He pauses. Seeing that this does not clear the confusion from Felix’s face, he elaborates. “I was thinking about you.” 

Gingerly, carefully, he takes Felix’s hand again, this time by the wrist. Felix is too busy staring at him with his mouth ajar to resist. “I miss your touch,” Dimitri says, letting what feels like months of longing color his tone. He brings Felix’s hand to his chest, and lets it rest there. He steps in closer, so that they’re just inches apart. “I miss the feeling of your hands on me,” his voice a near-whisper.

Felix finally gathers enough of his usual attitude to scoff. He seats himself back down, and Dimitri follows, kneeling before him. “That’s not a good reason to get distracted when someone is making a speech.” 

Dimitri looks back up at him wistfully. “Is it truly not?”

Felix shakes his head. “One of these days, if we’re not careful, we are going to get caught.”

Dimitri’s eye flits quickly to the door. “Not today, we won’t.” No one ever bothers them during their post-summit meetings, that is, except their friends. But Dimitri is quite sure that they have better things to do at the moment.

Felix huffs non-commitally. “That’s not the point.”

Dimitri hums in response. “Really?” he says. He looks up at Felix through his lashes – his face is still pink, and his breath is coming out slightly uneven. 

Just from that? Perhaps Dimitri is not the only one who has missed it. 

He rises onto his knees, keeping his eye trained on Felix’s expression. Once again, he clasps Felix’s palm in his own, and it comes easily. “Perhaps you could indulge me,” he says, his lips quirking up just slightly to the side.

Felix seems once again, dumbfounded. “Boar, I just said –”

Dimitri is unfazed. “Don’t worry, I don’t need much.” He squeezes his hand, “Just this.”

Felix sputters. “Fool, that won’t do anything.”

That’s what Dimitri might have thought, but he has a hunch; years of lying with Felix has taught him to trust his instincts. “You’re the one who didn’t want me to go too far. So surely,” Dimitri drags his tongue against his bottom lip, “This won’t be an issue.”

Felix seems uncertain, but the way he leans forward in his chair betrays his curiosity. “Whatever,” he says breathily. Once again, his eyes flit away to the edge of the room.

Dimitri smiles and shuffles closer so that he’s situated between Felix’s legs. Just like Felix to rise to the challenge. “Thank you,” he says. Admittedly, Dimitri would like to touch a lot more than just Felix’s hands, but they would have to do.

He starts by kissing the tip of every finger, relishing each perfect, shell-pink nail with attention. He presses his thumbs into his palm, relaxing his entire hand. He then works down and around, hovering before pressing his lips to the top of every knuckle while keeping his fingers curled in his.

“I thought about it, you know,” he says in a hushed tone between kisses. “Pulling off your gloves with my teeth, kissing your palms. All through the meeting.” He pauses so that he can use his own fingertips and mouth to trace every scar. Each puckered line a story, a tale of battles hard-fought. A history of soaring successes and heart-breaking failures, of mundane mistakes made day by day under the beating sun on the training grounds. Experiences that one by one, shape Felix into the man he is – the man Dimitri cherishes and adores.

“Though, I suppose it would be a shame to ruin them, as they are brand new, like you said,” he muses. “I’m sorry for that.” He takes one of Felix’s sleeves, slowly and purposefully rolling it down, exposing his bare wrist. This is one of the few places that have made it unscathed in years of battle. For that, Dimitri is grateful, because it means if he marks him there, it will show without any blemishes to distract from it.

Bending Felix’s hand back, he brings his unmarked wrist to his mouth, kissing at first, then using his teeth to lightly nip, and nip, and nip. Dimitri smiles against the vulnerable underside of his arm when he hears Felix’s breath hitch. “Ah, but then again, you told me not to apologize for my fantasies. So maybe I am not so sorry after all.” He laughs to himself. 

Before Dimitri can go further, to _really_ bite and suck and turn the spot properly red, Felix speaks up. “Stop talking already.”

Dimitri whines, eyes pleading. “Do you really want me to stop?”

“No, but.” Felix’s voice is strained, and he’s shielding his eyes. He looks like he could combust. “Just. Stop talking.”

Very well. Dimitri can manage that. 

“If you say so, Felix,” he says, shifting on his knees. 

Felix still has his eyes squeezed shut above him, and the tips of his ears are bright pink. Still, he allows his hand to relax in Dimitri’s grip. 

Gently, Dimitri folds all but his index finger back. He parts his lips, allowing the single digit to sink into his mouth. Above him, Felix yelps.

Feeling quite pleased at Felix’s reaction, Dimitri puts his tongue to use, licking up and down the thin length. He’s had much more than this in his mouth, but still, while not a challenge, this is certainly fun in a new way. He moves back and forth, up and down the extended finger, taking pleasure in every slippery bump around each joint. 

He then sucks, enjoying the feeling of it in his mouth, and watches he easily coats the entire thing in translucent saliva. Slowly, he pulls it out the first finger, folds it back until it’s curled like a hook, but takes extra time with the tip before pulling off completely. He’s so transfixed that he barely notices Felix’s legs shifting to either side of him.

Dimitri rearranges what he has in front of him. He’s about to take in a second finger when he hears Felix’s voice once again. The slight tremble does not go undetected. “Dimitri.”

Dimitri shifts his focus upwards and sees Felix look back down at him, face still partially obscured by his hand, but with his eyes visible and squinting down at him. He’s quivering lightly, but his pupils are dark, blown wide by desire. “You’re a beast.”

In response to that, Dimitri licks the tip of his third finger, and Felix’s lips part. “A beast, yes. But you like it,” he replies, and without warning, the inserts his middle finger into his mouth. It’s longer, but still nowhere as long or thick as a cock. Soon enough, Dimitri allows another finger to join it. He moves his fingers back and forth across his lips as he alternates laving the underside of his fingers with the flat of his tongue and hollowing out his cheeks for a proper suck. Above him, Felix _moans_. His legs shift again to either side of him and his ankles flex. His fingers are now so thoroughly slick that with each movement of Dimitri’s mouth, lips, and tongue, an obscene, wet sound follows.

Dimitri is not able to discern if it’s the imitation of a familiar act, or if this is truly that satisfying, but he feels his own trousers become uncomfortably tight. He’s about to move into a new position on the ground when suddenly, he feels Felix’s hand gripping his hair, breaking his reverie. Using the leverage he has, Felix pulls his hair back, and his fingers slip from Dimitri’s mouth. He revels the tight pressure on his scalp as he’s forced to raise his head to face his lover.

Felix’s blush has not died down in the slightest, but despite his obvious fluster, he tightens his grip before he speaks. For that, Dimitri lets out a low moan. “Stop – wasting your mouth where it’s not needed.”

Dimitri allows his gaze to drift down to Felix’s crotch in front of him. To his deep satisfaction, his eye is met with a prominent bulge straining against the laces. It is so satisfying, in fact, that he feels his own length twitch. 

He allows his gaze to flick back up to Felix’s. “I thought that you did not want to go further than this.”

Felix lets out a frustrated sigh, and just to make things clearer, he wraps his legs around Dimitri. Dimitri exhales as feels the weight of boots knock against his back. “That was then.” He pauses, his chest rising and falling as he gathers the breath for his next words. “Suck me.” Dimitri feels the heels of his boots dig between his shoulder blades.

Dimitri grins and reaches up to undo Felix’s laces. He is, of course, ever happy to oblige.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this as much as Dimitri enjoyed Felix's fingers.


End file.
